Resurrection
by DryWhiteToast
Summary: Jake miraculously returns and is horrified to discover he's been replaced by John Goodman and some snot-nosed kid.


THE RESURRECTION

Knowing the police were likely searching for him, Elwood Blues drove slowly and steadily down Ashland Ave., heading south toward Calumet City. No reason to attract any more attention than his late-model, full-sized Ford police package was already drawing in this seedy Chicago neighborhood.

Mighty Mack McTeer was taking up most of the front passenger seat, a _"White Castle"_ bag nearly lost in his enormous lap. He downed a slider in one gulp with his left hand and washed it down with a can of Miller Lite in the other hand.

"How can you eat that shit?" Buster asked from the back seat.

"Watch your mouth, kid," Elwood quickly responded. "You gotta grow some hair on your balls before you can use language like that."

"I can eat 30 of these suckers without even thinkin' about it," Mighty Mack said proudly, referring to the sliders. "Clears out my digestive system. After awhile, a couple of hours on the toilet, it all slides out and I'm all ready to go again."

Elwood was driving so cautiously that an ice cream truck passed him on the left and then moved in front of his Ford. The truck had dozens of colorful decals on the back and sides, each decal representing a tasty cold treat.

"I could go for one of those ice cream sandwiches, though," said Mighty Mack, who seemed hypnotized by the array of options. Both the truck and the Ford came to a stop at a red light. "Do you think I have time to get out and get one before the light turns green again?"

At that moment, the man driving the ice cream truck stepped out and began approaching Elwood and his gang. The driver was wearing the standard "ice cream truck man" uniform but had shiny black dress shoes and white socks that matched what Elwood, Mighty Mack and Buster were wearing. He was also sporting a pair of dark sunglasses and carrying what appeared to be a long, big stick. He looked oddly familiar to Elwood, who had no idea what the man wanted or why he got out of his truck in the first place.

Without warning, the driver leveled the big stick at Elwood's car and the front windshield immediately exploded into a galaxy of broken glass. Mighty Mack's head exploded along with it, raining pieces of brain and cartilage all over Buster's nice suit and tie. The blast set off the alarm of a nearby parked car, and pedestrians from all around turned toward the sound of the shooting.

Elwood could see clearly now that the front window no longer existed, and he thought he recognized this unexpected assailant with what was obviously a shot gun. But it couldn't be.

"Jake?" Elwood said almost to himself,

"Holy shit!" Buster screamed from the back. "That ice cream guy is fuckin' crazy! Get us out of here Elwood!"

But before Elwood could react, the ice cream man leveled his shot gun at Buster and blew a gaping hole into his chest. The assailant walked over to the back seat, opened the door and pulled Buster from the car, flopping the kid's lifeless body onto the sidewalk.

"Jake!" Elwood exclaimed.

The assailant then opened the passenger-side front door, grabbed Mighty Mack by his belt strap and hauled the huge carcass out of the car in one quick motion. Mighty Mack landed next to Buster on the sidewalk, both bodies resembling slabs of raw meat. The assailant then tossed the shot gun next to the bodies, climbed into the front seat of Elwood's car where Mighty Mack had been, found the big man's fedora sitting unscathed on the floor and promptly placed it on his own head.

"Jake!" Elwood said again, now sure it was really his brother apparently resurrected from the dead.

Jake pointed casually forward and said, "Hit it." Elwood obliged, racing the big Ford around the abandoned ice cream truck and quickly making a right onto 79th St. in an attempt to put as much distance between themselves and the scene of the shootings. Jake was about to ask Elwood for a cigarette when he noticed a half-empty pack of Marlboro's hiding under a pile of broken glass on the dashboard. He dusted off the glass and grabbed the pack, then began looking for the cigarette lighter. It was located directly under the cassette player. Seeing a loose tape hanging out of the player, Jake popped in the cassette and popped in the lighter. The sound of Johnny Young's "Lorraine" soon filled the interior of the late-model Ford.

"Who the hell was that fat fuck and that kid back there?" Jake said testily. "You trying to replace me, Elwood? You trying to replace your own brother?"

"Christ, Jake! I thought you were dead," Elwood said defensively. "The cops told me when I got out of Joliet that you had passed."

"Did you go to a funeral for me?" Jake asked with annoyance. "Did you ever see a body or go visit a gravestone?" Elwood realized he'd done none of those things. "You of all people should know you can't trust the cops."

The cigarette lighter popped out with a click and Elwood reached down to retrieve it, handing it to his brother. Jake took the lighter, fired up his Marlboro and promptly tossed the lighter out the side window.

"I gotta get outta this monkey suit," Jake said, brushing broken glass and pieces of Mighty Mack off his ice cream uniform. "What piece of shit are you driving now?"

"This is a full-package Ford police car," Elwood said proudly. "It has all the same specifications and capabilities as the car that imploded in front of Daly Plaza. So what do you say? Is this the new Blues Mobile or what?"

Jake took a long drag of his cigarette and looked around the interior of the car. It was covered in broken glass, blood and innards. He saw a bag of White Castle sitting on the back seat, reached over and retrieved a still-warm slider. "Fix the cigarette lighter."

After a second thought, Jake changed his mind.

"We have to ditch this car," Jake said, surveying the damage inside once again.

"We can't ditch this car, man," Elwood said calmly. "I have half of Willie Hall's drum kit packed away in the trunk, along with Blue Lou's sax and a new P.A. system I picked up at a garage sale."

"You kept in touch with the band?" Jake said excitedly.

"Yup," said Elwood, who had little pieces of broken glass blowing around him. "We even played a gig recently in Louisiana. Got to play with some of the big boys."

"Louisiana?" Jake said quizzically. "Ain't nothin' but snakes, alligators and vampires in Louisiana."

And zombies, Elwood thought to himself. He made a quick left and then a hard right, heading for the Our Lady of the Annunciation Hospital, which was now only a few miles away.

"But the cops!" Jake continued. "They're gonna know this is your car and they'll be on us in no time."

"Don't worry about that," Elwood replied. "I faked my registration when I bought this car. Put down 1410 Museum Campus Drive."

Jake thought about that for a moment. "1410 Museum Campus Drive?" He took a quick drag of his cigarette and tried blowing out the smoke, only to have it rush back into his face due to the wind coming through the non-existent front window. "That's Solider Field."

Elwood nodded with a smile. "Besides, we gotta go see the Penguin," Elwood said. "She'll know what to do."

"Fuck the Penguin!" Jake said. "That crazy bird's been nothin' but trouble. If we hadn't wasted that $5,000 saving the orphanage, we could have gone on to some bigger gigs. And we wouldn't have ended up going back to Joliet. You know what we have to do – what should be our top priority right now."

"The Pengiun's gonna wanna see you," Elwood said flatly. "We have to pay our respects and get some guidance from above."

"We need to put the BAND back together," Jake said. "We already completed our 'Mission from God' thing. I'll bet Maury screwed us on that other $5,000 that was supposed to go to the band. That guy owes us. He'll set up something big for us. Something huuuuge! You'll see."

"We're going to see the Penguin," Elwood said again.

Jake wasn't happy about his brother's decision, but he knew he had no choice. He took another drag of his cigarette and contemplated the situation. He and Elwood were back together again. They were "The Blues Brothers" again. Their lifelong adventure would continue, and now no one – not the cops, not the Good 'Ole Boys, not parole officer Mercer or that hick who owned that Country Bunker – would be able to stop them.

As long as they don't run into that crazy girl he left at the altar back in the day.


End file.
